


Ars longa, vita brevis (art is long, life is short)

by The_Readers_Muse



Series: A Fine(r) Art [6]
Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Angst, Art, Colin gets read to filth, Drama & Romance, F/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Phoebe can step on me tbh, Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virginity, bold of you to assume anyone knows what they are doing ever - except Phoebe, help me father for they still haven't sinned yet, this was a supposed to be a one shot and now it is a month later and I have children to feed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: "You tricked me! I want nothing to do with-"
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton & Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Series: A Fine(r) Art [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122908
Comments: 39
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "Bridgerton" or any of the show's characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Part six of the "A Fine(r) Art" series. Please read "Every Aphrodite is valid (just ask Zeuxis)," "Gulosity (in all things)," "Aisthētḗs (or in other words: you're my aesthetic, baby)," "Interruptions (or: somewhere God is laughing)," & "The cult of the lost cause (brought to you by: a metaphorical kick in the ass)" first – in that order.
> 
> Warnings: drama, romance, romantic tension, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension, angst, art, help me father for they still haven't sinned yet, this was a supposed to be a one shot and now it is a month later and I have children to feed, bold of you to assume anyone knows what they are doing ever - except Phoebe, Colin gets read to filth, Phoebe can step on me tbh.

"Phoebe, your gentleman caller is here!"

She was combing her mane of red curls when she heard the carriage arrive.

They were late. But then, the rich usually were. No surprise there.

She set down the brush with a happy click. Ringing the bell for the servants to bring sweetmeats and tea. She paused in front of the mirror, smiling at her reflection. Ever self-satisfied with what she saw as her red gown hugged her ample curves. Her bodice was loose, exposing more of her breasts than was strictly necessary. But she made no effort to lace-up beyond what propriety demanded. Instead, she took in what her newest client was soon to see. Curves upon curves that many a gentleman had thoroughly appreciated over the years.

Lordling or not, she'd entertained all sorts.

Today would be no different.

A ripple in her dress caught her attention. It wasn't a run or a tear, but a dimple caused by an over-taxed corset. Admittedly, she'd been something of a sloth of late, thoroughly enjoying her personal brand of hedonism. Rich foods and fine spirits a plenty. Her chuckle was rich, patting her stomach with a wry grin as she smoothed the material down again.

She'd certainly never had any complaints.

But then, the men she usually entertained came specifically because they liked a woman with hips to hold. Who wouldn't faint prettily at the first hint of roughness. She was the first to admit her popularly came from a specific appreciation for the natural female form. And that was how she liked it.

"This is for your own good!"

She crossed to the window, curious. Watching the line of the young man's back stiffen as he stepped out of the carriage. Looking up at the stone façade like it might contain a firing squad rather than a pantheon of pleasures.

While she was accustomed to her lovers being happy to arrive - eager at the very least - it wasn't anything she hadn't seen before. Besides, she had a knack for the stubborn ones.

"You tricked me! I want nothing to do with-"

It was only propriety that kept his voice from rising past a spirited volume. Protesting as two men - clearly his brothers - squashed him through the door by force. Disappearing as she listened, amused, at their progress through the house.

The argument cut off as the trio stopped outside her door and knocked.

"Enter," she replied. Careful to temper her usual purr. It wouldn't do to scare the poor thing off. Not when it appeared his brothers had dragged him here against his will.

"Ah, Miss Prophete, lovely," the eldest Bridgerton greeted. She knew him well, but not as well as the younger, Benedict, who greeted her with a wink. She sent him a serene smile, letting him puzzle over what it meant. Using the moment to take in her new charge.

_Oh, he was quite handsome, indeed!_

Good looks obviously ran in the family.

"My lords," she hummed, dropping a curtsey. "I confess your letter intrigued me. I'm flattered to be thought of. I cleared my afternoon, as requested."

They were empty words, to be sure. But expected of her nonetheless. In truth she used the platitudes to allow the new arrival - the third son - to look around. Hoping he would lose the look of a frightened deer before they were left alone.

She was more interested in the tastes of said deer, considering they'd asked for her specifically.

For a virgin, it was clear they believed their brother had a preference already.

She could certainly work with that.

The lordling was older than usual for a deflowering. Those in higher society tended to bring their sons and brothers at the age of majority. Instilling the importance of slaking their needs safely and privately. An essential service when it came to saving reputations from ruin.

And considering the look of him, this visit was one of desperation on the part of his kin. He looked tired, with the start of dark-punched lines under his eyes. His posture was rangy. Like at any moment he might keel to port. At risk of upsetting furniture and china when he eventually corrected himself.

Interesting.

Perhaps what Lady Whistledown had written about the former Miss Thompson, had been truer than she'd realized. Had he thrown himself into another ill-advised love affair? Some men had no desire to lay with a woman who was not their wife. Perhaps that was the problem? Being too quick to fall in love and make a less desirable match than his family wanted for him? Or was it something else?

No matter. What happened before and what might happen after was none of her concern.

"You will stay and entertain the lady. If you are lucky, after your display outside, she might entertain you in return. Do not disobey me on this, brother. You brought this on yourself. Just- relax. Enjoy yourself. _Properly_."

And with that, they left. Closing the door firmly behind them. Leaving them quite alone.

"Are they always like that?" she questioned, tone wavering between sympathetic and amused.

But he wasn't interested in her attempt at conversation.

He shook his head, clenching his top hat in a vicious grip. Eyes jumping from the velvet-draped bed, to her, the floor, then - more significantly - the door.

"Excuse me, miss. I was brought here under false pretenses. I have no desire to- I- I will waste no more of your time. Good day."

She cleared her throat as he paused by the door. One hand on the handle. Making him hover there as she smoothed her skirts. Drawing his eye, likely in spite of himself. She took a moment, looking him up and down like she was only just considering it.

"Or... we can just sit and chat," she suggested, gesturing to the chair by the fire. I already sent for tea and it is quite likely they are waiting for your escape downstairs. Stay for a while. I will get the pleasure of your company and you can avoid the censure of your family. The Viscount paid in advance and quite handsomely for me to clear my afternoon, so why not enjoy the fire? …Besides, I find conversation is often the best medicine for one's problems. Forgive me, but you look like you need it."

It wasn't the most graceful way to bait the hook, but he was still there. Hesitation was alive on his face, but his hand was already away from the door handle. Obviously seeing the logic in her proposal.

"And you won't inform them? I doubt my brothers intended my afternoon to be so... _banal_."

"Let them think what they wish," she hummed, indicating he make himself comfortable. Taking his hat as he crossed to the chair. Ducking his head when her loose bodice became apparent as she leaned forward. She smiled, immediately charmed. _She did so love the green ones._ "Men rarely handle these things with the delicacy they require."

His eyebrows rose as he dropped into the chair. Looking anywhere but the door when a servant knocked. Bringing in the tray of tea and sweetmeats with a bored politeness that was completely lost on her guest. Looking positively mortified at being acknowledged when the girl curtsied and turned to go.

"Is that what you're used to in this profession? _Delicacy_?" he shot back the moment they were alone. Cheeks heated with embarrassed pique.

She didn't allow the childish barb to land. Knowing he didn't mean it.

He was just angry. Uncomfortable. Confused. Frustrated. Wanting, but very much betrayed.

She'd dealt with much worse.

"If the occasion calls for it," she answered smoothly, preparing his tea. Choosing the best sweetmeats for him on a plate and holding it out until he took it. Clutching the delicate china with a look that spoke of not knowing why he wasn't halfway out the door by now. "The men who seek out my services often have a range of appetites. Some extreme, some not. They have their reasons the same as they have their needs. …Just the other day, I entertained a recent widower. Instead of warming my bed, he sat where you are now, enjoying a hot toddy by the fire. He told me about his late wife. Said I reminded him of her in their youth. All he wanted was my ear. Later, his brother told me it was the first time he'd seen him smile since she passed. I think he believed it was for another reason entirely and I did nothing to dissuade him of the notion."

He shifted, uncomfortable. The bags under his eyes seemed darker, more pronounced. Speaking volumes of sleepless nights and a heart heavy with more than family upset. There was something behind this behavior and she was determined to find it out.

"Why people come to me, and what they do when here is no one's business but theirs and mine," she told him gently. "The same as yours will be."

"I meant no offense, miss," he finally replied. Carefully contrite in all the expected ways, but with true regret in his eyes.

"None was taken," she returned. "And my name is Phoebe."

"Colin," he echoed hurriedly. Like a chastened child desperate to retain his better's favor.

It was a good look for him, she decided.

She smiled graciously. Inclining her head like the entire exchange had been nothing more than a late introduction.

Now they could begin.


	2. Chapter 2

"Tell me about her."

She took a sip of her tea. Waiting until he mirrored her before she played her first card.

His head whipped up. Surprised. _Suspicious_.

"You were informed," he accused hotly. Young and ever ready to take offense. Expecting to be wounded at any time, thus looking for it when it wasn't there. "You're mistaken, there is no-"

"I assure you I was and am not," she returned. Taking her time as she looked over the selection on the tray and choose a treat with thick, buttery pastry. "Just female and clever."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

_Oh, he was all heart this one._

"Let's play a game for it then?" she proposed, nibbling on the delicate pastry with a happy sigh. Tongue curling around the pad of her thumb to clean it when it was gone. "If I guess correct, if it pleases you, I will take off garment of your choice."

His blush was delightfully furious in it's coloring. Intrigued, but shy.

"And if you win?" he questioned, reluctantly excited amidst the pause.

Clever boy. Bit slow, but clever.

"Hmmm," she murmured, making a show of letting her eyes dip down the length of him. Tossing her red curls back with a laugh, pleased when he fixated on it. "While I know what I might like in exchange, perhaps a finger of brandy? Nothing you can't handle, I assume?"

The challenge made him sit up straighter in his chair. Setting his cup on the saucer with a decisive rattle.

She bit back a laugh at the masculine peacocking. Knowing full well if their places were reversed, she could drink him under the table.

"I must say you'll be getting the better part of the deal," she told him, playing with the ends of her hair. "What have you to lose?"

He blinked, then nodded. Still cautious, but now growingly comfortable.

"I agree to your terms. A conversation over tea seems more than fair. Especially if it means I can avoid my brothers meddling."

She smiled. Openly pleased and not afraid to let him see it.

Then she played her second card, expression alive with teasing mirth.

"Now, since I've already guessed correctly, that means you have a choice to make," she told him. Manicured nails flicking down her form. Encompassing all the possibilities with a lazy gesture.

He startled, grabbing for his tea merely to have something to occupy himself with.

_Simply precious._

"But that was before the wager was made!" he protested. Blushing again.

"And in the true spirit of it, I cannot be considered unfair, she purred, tapping her thigh. "That would hardly lead to trust between us."

His throat dipped through a hard swallow.

At this point, her eyes had gone half-lidded - certainly not helping matters. But she couldn't erase the expression. Nor the urge to discreetly rub her thighs together.

_This was just too good._

She watched his eyes travel down her curves. Lingering on the high cup of her breasts and the soft of her belly. Enough to know he had established appetites. Seeming to like the cut of her dress quite strongly as she stroked the silk of her skirts. Drawing his gaze and keeping it.

Whoever this lady of his was, she was a lucky one. Once he'd figured himself out, that is.

"Shall I choose for you?" she suggested. Smiling beatifically when he nodded hurriedly.

The most amusing thing was, he looked conflicted for how fast he deferred. For wanting to follow, rather than lead. Realizing only second, that in allowing her to make the choice, he'd given her the opportunity to be truly scandalous.

The chair he was perched on creaked when she inched up her skirts. Flashing cream stockings with delicate little shells sewed like coast-line jewels down the pleats. When she'd put them on, she'd entertained the idea of having him undress her. Now it was likely she'd be the one doing the undressing.

_Should she pity him?_

He'd grow into an imposing thing some day. He had the frame for it. But she had a feeling the boyishness in his face would remain long after youth fled. He'd be exposed to female trickery soon enough. So perhaps pity was the best course. …For now.

Still, she made a show of letting her hands linger on the top of her stockings. Brushing her nails up and down the hems before putting him out of his misery. Unclasping the fine gold necklace that crowned her throat with a smile.

His exhale was audible. Relief and guilty disappointment had never found a better face to live on.

"I believe you have a question to ask, ma'am," he prompted, eager for a diversion.

She barely waited a breath.

"Do I resemble her some?" she asked shrewdly.

He opened his mouth, as if to protest, but she stopped him.

"Come, we're all ladies of discretion here," she told him with a wink, moving to refill his tea.

She was happy to claim his first tentative smile of the afternoon.

* * *

"- the painting is striking. From what I know, its master isn't particularly known, but the subject? She was- _is_ quite a beauty. 'Femininity in it's most raw, feral sort,' I believe Lady Greenwood said."

It took time, hours, but eventually the brandy softened his resolve and loosened his tongue. Slowly giving her the information she needed as she took his measure anew.

"My sister brought Miss Featherington to see it without my knowledge. I came upon them, in _my rooms_ of all places! It was- well, she told me she approved of it. I- I'd never seen her look like that. As if she saw herself and was pleased by it. It doesn't make sense...but-"

In the end, she sat across from him in only her sheer undergarments. Lounging prettily across the chaise as he rolled his glass of brandy between his palms. His blush was boyish and real whenever he dared to glance at her. Beautifully embarrassed. His eyes, however, always lingered.

Her lower lip plumped against the blunt of her teeth.

She would have so loved to be his first.

_He'd barely make it out of her rooms alive._

"I had such dreams after that. ...I found myself quite out of sorts."

She made some observations, some soft suggestions, but never a judgmental word. Eventually understanding when he reached the catalyst of it all. Leaving her with a young thing who didn't understand his own heart and nothing more.

"And then, when I asked her to dance, she was engaged all evening! There are three suitors. _Three_. All of them eying her like she's some prize to be won! She barely even looked at-"

She cleared her throat with a gentle cough. Stopping him in his tracks. Watching as he shifted awkwardly in his chair. The barest line of brandy sloshed the bottom of his glass. Indication enough of his state of mind - and hers, if she was being honest.

 _Goodness, it was all so simple.  
_  
"She has loved you for a long time. Did you think she could wait for you to see it? When it was convenient for you, and not her? The world isn't like that, my lord. Not for either sex. But especially not ours."

The silence was stunned and heavy.

She crossed to him, sinking to her knees. Placing her hands on his and looking up at him. Watching as the blank, shell-shocked expression changed to disbelief, a slow building realization, then-

"How long have you loved her, Colin? Truly?"

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She remained where she was. Feeling the heat of him through his trousers until he slung back the last of the brandy with a twist of his lips. The glass clattered loudly on the silver tray. Momentarily deafening her to everything but the dangerous note it created.

"I- I don't know. It all happened so suddenly," he rasped, voice wrecked. Chastened, raw, and wondrously incomplete. But better for finally knowing it.

She smiled and nodded.

"Good."

"Good?" he echoed, head cocking in a way that made her want to laugh.

_Lord alive, he was so young._

"If you could point to a moment, I wouldn't believe you. This type of love rarely has one moment. Its an intimacy you fall into slowly. Growing with you. _Within_ _you_. You look up one day and realize it's been there all along. Just waiting for you to acknowledge it."

He was quiet again. But this time there was a difference in his expression that told her he wasn't bowed by it. Instead, he was slowly starting to realize he'd been set free.

She rose to her feet with a happy smile, kissing him on the cheek with a gentle smack. Chuckling as her hair wreathed around his head like a flaming curtain before she tipped up his chin with her finger.

 _He really was quite pleasing to the eyes._  
  
"My lord, I think it's fair to say your heart belongs to another. I cannot possibly compete."

He sank down in his chair as she returned to the chaise. Scooping up an ivory dressing gown to cover herself on the way. Legs bare and still delightfully indecent as she watched him come to terms with what he'd discovered.

_Ah, the war of life._

"What do I do?" he asked, more to himself than anything. "She has suitors…"

Her smile was predatory and proud as she settled herself in comfort. Reaching for her own untouched glass of brandy as her lips pulled back to show teeth.

"Provided she will have you; I have a few ideas that might be of help."

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- ars longa, vita brevis: latin for: "art is long, life is short."
> 
> \- Phoebe: meaning "bright". In Greek mythology, Phoebe was a Titan associated with the power of prophecy as well as the moon.
> 
> \- Prophete: a derivation of the English word: "prophet". It has two known possible sources. The first is that it is a metonymic or occupational name for a soothsayer or even a village elder. Being from the pre 7th century Old French word "prophete", meaning one who supposedly speaks with divine knowledge, or one who can predict the future.


End file.
